As the hot summer months approach, and Rome brims with tourists and pilgrims flocking to the Eternal City to soak up its rich historic cultural and spiritual patrimony, I find myself longing for August – typically the hottest month on the calendar, when the city empties out, life becomes quieter, and Rome belongs to us stragglers who have stayed behind.
The hustle and bustle of Rome is part of the magic of the city, as a primary tourist destination for the global masses, and it is part of what makes the city so chaotic and challenging for locals. When I arrived in Rome nearly 11 years ago, I was among those starry-eyed newcomers dazzled by the city and, as a Catholic, I was overwhelmed by the thought that I was in the heart of where it all happened, the very centre of Christendom.
Over the years, the craze to see as much of Italy and as many holy sites in as many cities as possible has calmed as I’ve settled into a routine, trying to find a balance between work commitments and living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, with so many things yet to be discovered.
Being a Catholic in Rome is a unique experience. For one thing, most of the country is Catholic, at least in a cultural sense. Very few Italians attend Mass relative to the number who identify as Catholic; pretty much every Italian grows up in the Church. They are baptised, most receive First Communion and Confirmation, and they usually attend Mass until they reach young adulthood, at which point lethargy, scepticism or a uniquely Italian anti-clerical sentiment sets in.
The unique thing about being a Catholic for Italians is that, for better or for worse, they grow up in the same place as the Vatican. For Romans in particular, their relationship with the Church is unique since the Pope is also Bishop of Rome. Opinions about the Catholic Church in Rome are divided. Families tend to fall into two general categories: either staunch church-goers whose children and grandchildren are involved in oratories, scout groups or other parish activities; or they are anti-clerical, seeing the Church, and the Vatican in particular, as a hotbed of corruption and a convenient place to send problematic clerics who can’t be trusted in a diocese.
These divided sentiments are present everywhere the Catholic Church has a footprint, but they are more acute in Rome. Every Roman, for instance, will have an opinion about the Vatican’s tax responsibilities to the Italian state, or how much time the Pope, as their bishop, spends travelling abroad versus visiting local parishes. Whatever their opinion of the Church might be, however, it’s always the parroco, the pastor of the local parish, who is sought in moments of crisis or difficulty. Italians can debate various aspects of the Church until they are blue in the face, but when moments of suffering or need arise, the Church is also the first place they go for solace, comfort and, at times, advocacy.
As expats, settling into that scene and finding one’s spiritual home can be difficult, at least at first. Some find their place among fellow compatriots – at the French parish in Rome, the Slovakian parish or the Filippino parish, and so on. As Americans, my husband John and I could join many of our colleagues in attending Sunday Mass at the American parish, Saint Patrick’s, which is near the US Embassy; however, we have settled into a small parish in our neighborhood called Santa Maria Regina Apostolorum, which is also the mother house of the Pallottine Fathers.
There, Italians fill the pews while foreign
priests celebrate Mass, and other immig-rants help do the readings and take up the collections. John has become a regular lector at daily and Sunday Masses, and we have been welcomed warmly. Each parish, in a sense, at least in our experience, is a microcosm of much of Italy as a whole: a coming together of people from various countries and backgrounds for something beautiful; people who leave those differences at the door and celebrate the faith as one family of believers. The parish is also a place where Italians, who tend to be stubbornly nationalistic, happily listen to sermons from foreign priests, whether they be from Africa, Asia or elsewhere in the world.
Being Catholic in Italy, in our experience, is on the one hand complex – as you navigate the nuances of church and state, distinguishing the Church from the Vatican, with the Pope effectively being everyone’s neighbour – and on the other hand one of the most unique, edifying and inspiring experiences one could have. There really is no place quite like it.
